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by okayantigone



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Canonical Child Abuse, Cheating, Childhood Sexual Abuse, College, Daddy Kink, F/M, Gen, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Nicaise is tumblr famous, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Social Media AU, Trauma, fic on hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Nicaise is one half of the popular tumblr kink blog prince-and-babydoll, and he's made a comfortable life for himself, shaking off the shackles imposed on him by his childhood with hours of therapy with Paschal. His relationship with Laurent - the other half of the blog - is stable, and Laurent seems to finally be making his way towards recovery as well.The private messages from Daddy dom dayumn-ianos are a pleasant respite from countless unsolicited dick pics and derogatory language, but when the online fun and games start bleeding into real life, both Laurent and Nicaise have to face conversations they aren't entirely ready to have with each other, or with Damen himself.//hiatus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love tumblr/social media AUs, and so I am making this one 
> 
> prince-and-babydoll is Laurent and Nicaise's couple blogs. prince-irl and babydoll-irl are their personal blogs. Nicaise is a social media attention whore, who liveblogs every single minute of his life. Laurent usually just posts pictures of Nic. 
> 
> Damen is taking a sabbatical from life, getting over the fact that his fiancee Jokaste cheated on him with his older brother Kastor. He's spending his days baking on beaches, lifting at the gym, and disappointing his CEO Nikandros. 
> 
> And they fuck. Obviously. 
> 
> NOW you can also read a beautiful and delicious take on this au from TellerofTales, and it's frankly, the most amazing thing I have laid eyes on! GO READ IT, GO!
> 
> Laurent and Nicaise's relationship isn't entirely healthy, or good, but they'll work on it.

His name is Nicaise, he is twenty years old, and he just started his first year college classes. He lives in a flat off-campus with his roommate Ancel. He’s dating someone, but they’re keeping it on the down-low because he’s older. He has a blog, and he likes reading, painting and photography. He’s a liberal arts major, but he wants to go into trauma psychology. His best friends are Ancel and Aimeric. He’s a foster child, so he doesn’t have any real family he’s close to.

 

He repeats this to himself as he walks towards the student registry desk, like a mantra. This is his identity now, this is who he is. He practiced a lot with his psychologist, until he could say it all with an easy confident smile. In his ripped jeans and fishnets, and his cropped Balenciaga t-shirt that may or may not be authentic, with a pastel Kanken bag slung over one shoulder, he looks like one of a thousand identical hipster art kids, and no one here has to know who he was before that, or what happened to him.

 

He’s been working his way towards going to college slowly in the last few years. Laurent helped, tutored him with the kind of infinite patience he only seems to display when Nicaise is concerned, until he got his GED. He could have gone last year – Laurent offered to pay, and the internship at Vere International counted hugely in his favor. It wasn’t a lie – he had technically acted as Laurent’s intern, bringing him coffee at all hours of the night, doing document copies, and practicing his French by proofing his personal email and thinning out his inbox. Laurent was more than happy to act as his reference, and Jord gave him what could have passed as a few formal training seminars in business communication that he could use for credits if he wanted, so he wasn’t even lying about that.

 

Still, he wanted to pay his own way through college. He didn’t want to owe Laurent anymore than he already did. The sponsorship he landed with Agent Provocateur’s new androgyne line was what he’d needed, and now he was facing the daunting prospect of becoming an honest to god college student. Of having his own life. It hadn’t seemed real until now.

 

The secretary was distracted, she checked his ID, made him sign, and then handed him a map and his class schedule, and he walked back out in the sun.

 

He pulled his phone out. It was a beaten up rose gold smartphone, and he’d bought it fourth-hand off the Facebook marketplace with the money he made from a sponsored post by a Japanese loli-fashion brand.

 

He opened his personal blog, scrolling quickly past all the messages and nude requests, and opened up the text post blog.

 

babydoll-irl:

 

officially a college student; send throughts & prayers etc

 

He shoved the phone back in his jeans pocket and decided that between an iced caramel frapp, and a sandwich for lunch, he preferred the coffee option. Laurent would treat him to a celebratory dinner later tonight, and if the talks with the French subsidiaries had gone well, and he was in a nice mood, maybe it wouldn’t be the only kind of celebration they’d do.

 

prince-irl liked this.

 

dayumn-ianos liked this

 

fire-dancel liked this

 

ice-ander liked this

 

dayumn-ianos said: Congratulations, baby doll!

 

ice-ander reblogged this and said: im so happy for u, im sure prince is super proud <3 <3 <3

 

He checked his notifications one last time. His blog had over twenty thousand followers, but it was the few usual people who reacted to his text updated and pictures. Ancel and Laurent, of course, and Isander, who was a fairly sweet guy – he and Nicaise had gone to a few meetups together, but their friendship was mostly online, and more recently – dauym-ianos, or, as his bio proclaimed _Damen, European, Dom, early 30s, bi, living and loving life, currently on sabbatical from the real world._

Damen had gotten on a liking-and-reblogging spree on Nicaise and Laurent’s couple blog prince-and-babydoll, and if Nicaise had to exchange a few booty pics for a good url, that was no one’s business but his. The Aesthetic was Life.  They hadn’t paid him much attention then – lots of people did it, and lots of thirsty daddies subsequently messaged him, or Laurent, or both, acting like the animals the lawless wasteland of the Online allowed them to be, and if anything, it was a welcome reprieve that he didn’t immediately attempt to get one of them to look at his dick and evaluate it.

 

Not that he needed to see an IM from him to see his dick. His most recent picture on his blog (and yeah, okay, Nicaise had done a bit of stalking, sue him, he was bored), was a shirtless gym selfie in very thin grey jogging pants that had slid obscenely low on his hips, and he was definitely commando under them.

 

If he behaved like a normal human person, Nicaise wasn’t sure he’d object to his advances. That of course depended on wether or not he opened conversation by asking Nicaise if he’s a good little slut who wants Daddy’s cock. Because while all of the above was true, he also appreciated being bought a nice dinner first. Hell, Laurent had started off by paying for his therapy. Anyone else had a beautiful pair of 150mm Loubotin heels to fill.

 

He paid attention in class. He was one of the few students taking notes on paper, rather than on a shiny laptop, but his MacBook pro was his most prized possession, and literal bread and butter, and it was never leaving the safety and security of his and Ancel’s apartment. He only had the laptop, because he’d agreed to accept it as a birthday gift from Laurent, and it made the entirety of his blogging experience that much easier, especially with editing photos and videos.

He had a few posts queued up from a new series of pictures Ancel had helped him set up, modeling a new indie line of _naughty_ jewelry he got in PR. The earrings were pretty, and he definitely didn’t need to be sponsored to wear them, but he had mixed feelings about the collar – he didn’t really like yellow gold in large amounts, but it was a personal thing.

 

By the time his first day of classes was over, he was exhausted. He’d never really gone to school – Laurent and Aimeric had tutored him, and Jord had helped where he could (learning how to write an official sounding business email really helped him with the paid promotions on the blog), and he finished most of his classes online. Paschal warned him it might be overwhelming – not just because of the sheer amount of people he’d be surrounded with, but simply because he hadn’t had to spend that much time in one place, paying attention to one thing. He was capable of focusing, and even hyperfocusing on occasion, but he’d never had the training on how to properly channel it.

 

Still, he had a new notebook for each class, and they had stickers with his name and class and school email on them, in case he lost them, and a pretty pink pencil case with bunny ears, and an assortment of brand new pens for writing stuff down, colorful gel pens for important things, and highlighters for his handouts, and a separate folder for lectures and seminar work. He wondered if he’d be able to work something out with promoting the burgeoning etsy stationery industry if he started a sudyblr.

 

Instead, he thought about staging a naughty schoolgirl shoot with Laurent. He’d been eyeing a cute plaid skirt, it was in his wishlist.

 

He walked home. Ancel was in the kitchen, and judging from the whiny “But, Daddy – “, was on the phone with Berenger. It seemed as though the older man lived for giving Ancel rules, and then letting Ancel get away with breaking them.

 

Nicaise couldn’t complain though, since the rice cooker and coffee machine Ancel so generously allowed him to use were both a gift from him. He waved at Ancel, and went into his room, shutting the door behind him.

 

The room’s décor was also a gift from Laurent. They’d had a lot of fun decorating it, paiting the walls a soft eggshell blue, and fitting his king bed in with all the blankets and pillows in the world, all in the same shades of blue, grey and white.

 

It was Nicaise’s name on the apartment lease, but he couldn’t afford the place on his own. When Ancel’s last sugar daddy before Berenger had dumped him, and he needed a place to stay, it was easy to work out a rent agreement that satisfied everyone, and Nicaise’s filming studio in the spare room turned into Ancel’s bedroom, while the filming and photography equipment moved to Laurent’s penthouse.

 

Really, there was nothing stopping Nicaise from moving in with Laurent, and enjoying the full benefits of dating one of the richest men in the country. He could have a driver take him places, and never lift a finger for anything, but he’d had enough of being _kept_ and Laurent understood that perfectly.

 

Besides, the two-bedroom was nice, and a walking distance from campus, and he didn’t have to worry about having a place to stay if Laurent was having one of his bad times.

 

He flopped on the bed, pulling his massive Totoro plushie to his chest, and pulled his phone out again. He scanned the notifications for familiar urls.

 

Someone had sent prince-and-babydoll an anonymous question asking “Prince how do you feel about babydoll going off to college?”

 

It was several someones, actually, with varying degrees of people inquiring how their dynamic would change, if at all, with Nicaise supposedly becoming more independent. A lot of people were under the assumption that Laurent was Nicaise’s sugar daddy, and all Nicaise did all day was look pretty and do nothing. Really, it was all part of the aesthetic they were selling. Especially since Laurent’s face was never in the pictures, most people assumed – well. They assumed whatever. prince-and-babydoll wasn’t a goddamn BDSM manual.

 

He was selling the fantasy of his relationship with Laurent – the pretty parts, of his bruised thighs, and lovely jewelry. They didn’t need to know about the screaming fights, and Laurent’s fits of hysteria as he steadfastly denounced therapy, the one time Nicaise had been so sure Laurent was going to hit him in earnest, outside of their play, the time he threw a salad bowl at the wall beside his head (the salad still in it, and there’s a lovely painting of the seaside now masking the stain on the wall), the time Nicaise had screamed his throat hoarse, the time he took a tyre wrench to Laurent’s car over a disagreement –

 

And there was plenty of that. Definitely in the beginning, a lot less now, when Laurent took his pills, having gone to just enough therapy to obtain a prescription. They were both more grown up now, they talked more – to each other, and to other people.

 

He’s got a text from Laurent.

 

_I’m taking you for dinner tonight. Pick you up at 8. Wear your collar. – L_

Nicaise’s heart fluttered. It meant there would be more than just dinner going on when Laurent took him out. He had time for a quick nap before starting to get ready. He put his phone to charge and turned on his alarm, cudling up around his Totoro and closing his eyes to recharge.

 

He woke up as cranky and pissed off as sleep usually left him feeling, and took his sweet itme in the shower to wash all thebad attitude off. They were meant to celebrate tonight. If it went sour, it wouldn’t be because of him, he was determined to see to it.

 

He debated in front of his closet, settling on a pretty pale blue lingerie set. Laurent hadn’t given instructions beyond asking him to wear the collar, so he figured he might take a bit of initiative. Ancel was still about the house, pouting about whatever disagreement he and Berenger had, shopping online for trim for his new costume. His belly dance performances had really taken off, and he didn’t want to disappoint his audience, making more and more elaborate looks to bring to them.

 

“I need you to lace me,” Nicaise said, without preamble. Ancel looked up, and minimized the tab. He appeased Nicaise’s cream-and-pwder blue ensemble and smiled appreciatively.

 

“You look like a snack,” he said earnestly. “Turn around, brace on the sofa. How was your first day at school?”

 

Nicaise gritted his teeth while Ancel tugged the corset laces until his vision swam. Then he let up a bit. It was right between actual pain and mere discomfort. Laurent was the one who preferred corsets – to wear, and to see being worn, and Nicaise didn’t mind indulging him on occasion.

 

Ancel finished lacing him, and patted his hip to let him know it was okay to move again.   
  
“Very good. Exhausting, but I liked it. My classes are all fun.”

 

“Good to hear.”

 

Ancel had gone to school for choreography, but never actually finished. Nicaise’s interest in pure academia vexed him, but he took it in good humor. They both had their quirks.

 

“Laurent’s taking me to dinner,” he elaborated.

 

“Yeah,” Ancel nods at his state of undress. “I gathered. What are you wearing over this? I can lend you my fur coat.”

 

“Very funny.”

 

Nicaise wasn’t really that much of an exhibitionist in real life. The audience online satisfied his inherent need for approval and attention well enough. He didn’t really need to be gawked at in person. He actually preferred the opposite. But Laurent liked to show off. Liked to show _him_ off. Laurent was proud of him. Proud of having him.

 

He wore black trowsers, and a silk shirt over his clothes, but he played a bit with makeup, adding a pop of turquoise eyeliner to make his eyes bigger and brighter. His collar was a thin platinum chokes, inlaid with pear-cut sapphires that matched his eyes with their pretty glittering color. It looked like a beautiful piece of jewelry. It _was_ a beautiful piece of jewelry. He and Laurent had designed it together. Laurent wore a matching platinum ring with a matching stone on the middle finger of his left hand. That way it couldn’t be mistaken for an engagement ring and get the paparazzi talking. Most people assumed it was an overpriced class ring from whichever fancy private school in Europe he’d finished. It was their little secret.

 

He sprayed perfume and walked through the cloud, grabbing his keys and phone on the way to the front of the building. It was him and Laurent tonight, no drivers or bodyguards. Laurent must have come in from work. His legs looked endless in the supple velvet of the Balenciaga thigh highs, which hugged his legs clad in painted on trousers, the gold buttons along his hips glittering in the street light.  His white silk shirt had the top few buttons undone, revealing his beautiful collarbone, and Nicaise longed to _bite_. Laurent tucked his phone in his back pocket when he heard him, and when he looked up, smiled with his whole face, his eyes lighting instantly, pleased.

 

“Nicaise,” he murmured, and opened his arms slightly. Nicaise accepted the hug, leaning in, and breathing in Laurent’s cologne, and beneath that, the tea tree shower gel he favored. Laurent’s arms were secure and warm around him, and he kissed the top of Nicaise’s head.

 

“How was your first day?” he asked gently, opening the door for Nicaise to get into the passenger seat. He’d taken the Porsche tonight, and he walked around the car, his long lean legs taking him there quickly.

 

“It was good,” Nicaise said quietly, his eyes darting to Laurent’s beautiful pale hands, and thought of them around his throat at the end of the night as he added softly, “prince.”

 

Laurent’s responding smile was as once pleased and hungry. “Good boy.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters are gonna be a hell of a lot shorter because I don't have a lot of time to write, but I also wanna get some content out to you guys sorry

Dinner is nice. He posts a picture of his main course, and a boomerang of Laurent’s beautiful delicate fingers pushing a cream-covered strawberry between his lips.  
Laurent is in a good mood, and he congratulates him, and lets him have some wine, and listens to him rattle off about his classes. He’s ambivalent about making a schoolboy shoot – they need some new content to go up anyhow. His exact words were “I am not opposed to seeing you in a plaid pleated skirt.” 

Nicaise takes it as a win and carries it with him as he sits in the passenger seat of the Porsche. Laurent reverses out of their parking spot, and rests his hand on Nicaise’s thigh, his fingers digging lightly into the soft flesh. 

Nicaise lets his eyes flutter closed and leans back in his seat. The drive to Laurent’s penthouse seems to take forever. His patience runs out in the elevator, when he weaves his arms around Laurent’s shoulders and part shis mouth for a kiss. 

They stumble into the living room, and Laurent’s hand finds Nicaise’s ass and squeezes. 

“Pretty boy,” he murmurs hungrily as he helps Nicaise out of his clothes. His eyes rest on the fine boning of the corset, and makes a soft strangled sound in his throat, his pupils blown wide. He caresses the pronounced dip in Nicaise’s waistline. It hurts. 

“Fuck,” Luaren’t soft cultured voice makes the word sound even more obscene. 

“Undress. Keep the heels on. Bend over the back of the sofa.” 

“Yes, prince,” Nicaise whispers, half dazed already. 

Laurent comes up behind him, and reaches between his thighs, his fingertips skimming the soft skin. He kneels, and then Nicaise feels his mouth, and moans. So that’s the mood for the night. 

“You taste so good, doll,” he murmurs. 

Nicaise whines. He feels the cool slide of lube, and he’s not sure where Laurent magicked it out of, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it as his prince fingers him open. He clings to the sofa for dear life. 

Then Laurent straightens up. Nicaise hears the slide of his zipper, and the rustle of silk. Laurent fists a hand into the laces of the corset, and Nicaise moans – it hurts so good, and he can’t breathe. 

Laurent pushes in in one smooth stroke, and Nicaise thinks he might pass out from the pressure, and the lack of oxygen. Laurent relaxes his grip on the laces a little bit, but the pain is still there. He feels bruises forming, and he feels sated. He’s hard, but he doesn’t really care about the need. Laurent will take care of him, when he decides he’s earned it. 

He lets his head fall forward and loses himself to the feeling of Laurent inside him. 

It’s three am and he’s well-fucked and sated, the dinner pictures are doing well, and Laurent is asleep beside him, with the help of whatever sleeping pills he’s trying out this week, his long pale arms wrapped around a pillow. 

Nicaise slides out between the silk sheets and pads to the master bathroom. He turns the switch on, and it floods with artificial light. drops the short silk robe he usually wears around the house, and stands naked in a sea of white glittering tile. He regards himself in the full-length mirror carefully. 

He's always been on the skinny side, and his skin is blotched with purple, corset blisters on his ribs, and Laurent’s handprints on his throat. That’ll make for nice pictures. He turns the taps in the bath on, and lets it fill up with lukewarm water while he brushes his teeth. Once with regular toothpaste, and then once with charcoal. 

He goes on his knees and rummages through the cupboard under the sink. He pours two carefully measured cupfuls of bleach into the water. The bath smells like lemon now. Smells like being clean. He pours another one for good measure. 

Laurent doesn’t know about this. That’s his secret. He puts the bleach back where he always leaves it, and pulls his bubble bar from his side of the sink cabinets. The artificial fruity scent masks the smell of clean. 

No one knows his secret. 

He dips himself into the water. He feels good. The stinging along his skin is the most reassuring part of his ritual. He is clean. In the most literal sense, there is nothing left on his skin that is dirty. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the white porcelain. 

He stays in the bleach water until it goes cold. Then he drains the tub and goes under the shower to rinse. It dries his skin out something awful, but the strawberry skin yogurt is a nice counterbalance. 

He washes and conditions his hair while he’s at it, towel dries it, and rubs the leave-in mousse there for an artfully tousled look in the morning. 

He rummages through his side of the clothing drawers and finds a pair of cherry-print panties. 

He slips back between the sheets clean and soft and satisfied, and tangles his fingers with Laurent’s before letting himself sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this fic is officially on hiatus, because i'm overwhelmed with grad school, and have some other WIPs that i'm more passionate about atm. 
> 
> HOWEVER, TellerOfTales has the most brilliant ever take on a tumblr AU, which you can check out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728216


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